Episode 35: The Namgung Clan

The two guards responded hesitantly.

“So, you’re a physician, right? We can’t leave our post, so you’ll have to take your business inside.”

“Is that so? Well, I suppose there’s no other way.”

It seemed they were stationed at the entrance to prevent any martial artists from the demonic sects or rogue factions from barging in.

Dang Mujin and Gwiui left the guards behind and stepped through the main gate.

Given the reputation of the renowned sword clan hosting the banquet, nearly everyone inside the grounds appeared to be a martial artist.

Many of them recognized Gwiui, and their reactions varied.

Some approached with a friendly greeting, while others turned away hastily, as if they’d encountered someone they shouldn’t have.

“What did you do to make people look at you like that?”

“As I said before, it’s better to be a mad dog than a pushover.”

“Even mad dogs have their limits… Oh, someone’s waving over there.”

“That’s Namgung Jinya, the ‘Poisonous Thunder Sword.’ He’s the younger brother of Namgung Jinchun, the head of the Namgung clan. A top-tier martial artist.”

“Wow, you even know the head’s brother? Your connections are impressive, old man.”

“Whether good or bad, few have as wide a network as I do. Traveling the world means just that.”

Dang Mujin observed Namgung Jinya.

Despite missing his left arm, he had a robust build, thick eyebrows, and a warm, approachable gaze. He had the kind of looks that would be considered handsome by anyone.

Namgung Jinya strode over to Gwiui with long strides.

“It’s been a while, Lee Chung.”

“Almost ten years, Namgung Jinya. How’s the left arm I cut off? Does it still itch when it rains?”

For a moment, Dang Mujin almost cursed out loud.

He cut off the head’s brother’s arm and still walked into the Namgung clan with such confidence? Dang Mujin immediately took five steps away from Gwiui.

Namgung Jinya burst into hearty laughter at the sight.

“You still have a way with words. Can’t you see the young fellow here is all tense?”

“Heh.”

“Young man, don’t worry. It wasn’t Lee Chung who cut off my arm, but a killer named Muyounggaek.”

“So, it was just a lie? Really, old man, act your age…”

“It wasn’t a lie. My left upper arm was rotting from the poison on Muyounggaek’s dagger, and this friend here cut it off and treated me. So, it’s true he cut off about three inches of my arm.”

Gwiui chuckled, and Namgung Jinya smiled gently, as if used to Gwiui’s antics. It was a warm and generous smile, uncharacteristic of a martial artist.

“Anyway, it’s the first time I’ve seen you with someone else. Who’s this young man?”

“He’s a physician I happened to travel with. He has business with the Namgung clan.”

“Business?”

“You know Namgung Myung, right?”

“Of course. How could I not know my eldest nephew?”

It seemed Namgung Myung was indeed the eldest son of Namgung Jinchun.

Dang Mujin was curious about how Gwiui would explain the situation, so he listened closely. But Gwiui spoke directly, without beating around the bush.

“That kid brought a sword, right? The one with the plain look, a roughly made wooden handle, and a boring scabbard.”

“Yes, he brought that sword, and that’s why we’re having this banquet.”

“That sword belongs to this guy. Namgung Myung stole it and ran off.”

Namgung Jinya’s expression hardened.

“Look, everyone knows you like to joke, but this isn’t something to joke about.”

“Namgung Jinya. Do you think I don’t know that?”

Silence.

Gwiui and Namgung Jinya stared at each other for a moment.

”…So it wasn’t a joke. What happened?”

“It’s simple. We were sailing down the Yangtze River, and that Namgung Myung ran off with the sword.”

Namgung Jinya closed his eyes and sighed.

“Myung, even if your experience is limited, you shouldn’t have done such a thing…”

“You seem to trust my story more than your nephew’s, huh?”

“Because it’s something he might do. He grew up without a mother or siblings, constantly pushed to move forward. He tried desperately, but never once received his father’s approval.”

“Hmm.”

“Would you believe it if I said this is the first time I’ve seen him praised by his father and the first time I’ve seen him so happy?”

Dang Mujin glanced at the head table of the banquet. A middle-aged man with a stern expression sat there, and Namgung Myung was seated beside him, looking genuinely happy, like a child.

But Gwiui didn’t look at Namgung Myung. He was focused solely on the conversation.

“Namgung Myung must lack talent compared to his father.”

“Talent? It’s not bad. Reaching the peak of the first-rate level at his age isn’t something to dismiss. But he’s not at the forefront of the younger generation.”

“Is that why he’s pushed so hard, never satisfied? Namgung Jinchun must have quite the twisted personality.”

“That’s the position of the head of a sword clan. You have to run your whole life, thinking you’ll die if you fall behind.”

Namgung Jinya shook his head. He seemed relieved that he wasn’t the head.

“Anyway, if word of this spreads, it won’t end with just a scolding. If he’s lucky, he’ll have his martial arts crippled; if not, he might end up in a dungeon.”

The person most shocked by this was Dang Mujin.

“Not an enemy, but his own son would be punished like that?”

“The name of a clan isn’t earned easily. If a family member tarnishes the name, the head must view them as an enemy. Young physician, what’s your name?”

“Dang Mujin.”

Namgung Jinya hesitated for a moment, then took Dang Mujin’s hand.

“Physician Dang, I ask you. Could you overlook Myung’s mistake just this once? I promise to repay you on behalf of my nephew.”

At that moment, Gwiui swatted Namgung Jinya’s hand away and growled.

“Don’t talk nonsense, Namgung Jinya. When you say it like that, it’s not a request; it’s a threat.”

“That wasn’t my intention.”

“Intentions don’t matter. Besides, asking a martial artist who lost his sword to overlook the mistake? How can someone from the Namgung clan, who reveres swords, say such a thing? It’s unbelievable.”

”…Didn’t you say he was a physician?”

“He’s both a physician and a martial artist. Just like me.”

“I see.”

Despite being rebuked by Gwiui, Namgung Jinya pleaded with Dang Mujin once more.

“I know it’s shameless, but I ask again.”

Namgung Jinya, who must have been proud all his life, bent his back slightly.

With so many eyes watching, he couldn’t show more humility, but if they were alone, he might have even knelt, given his respectful tone.

Caught in this awkward situation, Dang Mujin couldn’t make a decision, so Gwiui coldly interjected.

“Don’t even think about it. Namgung Myung did wrong, so he should face the consequences. The guilty should be punished, and the owner should get his sword back. That’s justice.”

“But.”

“But? There’s no such thing. If I hadn’t been with Dang Mujin, he wouldn’t have been able to even complain about losing his sword. Namgung Myung cunningly used the clan’s influence. Do you think it’s right for such a coward to become the head of the Namgung clan?”

Gwiui’s argument was sound, and his tone was fierce. Namgung Jinya couldn’t respond and hesitated.

Gwiui didn’t give Namgung Jinya a chance to speak again and moved to the center of the crowd.

Then he stomped his foot hard.

Boom—

The ground shook with a tremor, and a slight cloud of dust rose.

Countless eyes turned to Gwiui. The bustling grounds fell silent.

The silence was broken by Namgung Jinchun, the head of the clan.

“A familiar face. Gwiui Lee Chung. What brings you here?”

“I’m here to reclaim a sword.”

“A sword? You have one at your waist. Go back.”

A low chuckle spread through the crowd. But Gwiui continued undeterred.

“There are more swords in the world than just mine. The sword I need to reclaim isn’t mine; it’s his.”

Gwiui pointed at Dang Mujin. All eyes in the Namgung clan turned to him.

Dang Mujin felt as if he couldn’t breathe. The weight of their gazes was different from that of blacksmiths.

Until recently, the highest-ranking martial artist Dang Mujin had spoken to was Jin Song, the head instructor of the Chengdu branch. Even first-rate expert Jin Song had seemed so high up.

But among the hundreds of people here, first-rate martial artists were as common as pebbles. There were surely several top-tier martial artists like Gwiui and Namgung Jinya.

And the sword demon Namgung Jinchun was one of the six supreme masters in the martial world.

His gaze felt like it pierced Dang Mujin’s heart. If anyone could crush a person with just their gaze and presence, it would be Namgung Jinchun.

Namgung Jinchun asked.

“What is the story?”

Dang Mujin gathered his wits and looked around.

Gwiui gave a small nod. It meant to speak honestly, as he would handle the aftermath.

“Namgung Myung took—”

At that moment, Dang Mujin saw Namgung Myung’s face.

His expression was as if he’d been plunged from paradise into hell. His complexion was pale, and his eyes trembled wildly.

Gwiui’s talk of justice. Namgung Jinya’s plea for forgiveness.

And Namgung Myung’s wavering eyes.

Dang Mujin hesitated.

Could you really throw Namgung Myung into hell just to retrieve a sword that could be remade at any time? Is there no room for compassion in the course of justice?

There was no time to ponder. No clear answer in sight.

It was simply that the young healer, Dang Moo-jin, wasn’t ruthless enough.

After clearing his throat a couple of times, Dang Moo-jin began his slightly twisted tale.

“My name is Dang Moo-jin. Not long ago, a sword that had been passed down in my family was stolen. I searched high and low for it, and it seems that sword has somehow ended up in the hands of Namgung Myung.”

Namgung Myung’s eyes were still unsettled, but his complexion improved slightly, as if he believed he hadn’t been completely cast into hell just yet.

But mere claims wouldn’t solve the problem.

Namgung Jin-cheon rose to his feet, his presence as imposing as a mountain, pressing down on Dang Moo-jin.

“Can you prove that? If not, you’ll have to take responsibility.”

Dang Moo-jin racked his brain desperately. Was there a way to prove that the sword was indeed his?

There wasn’t. While some craftsmen leave signatures on the tang or the base of the blade, Dang Moo-jin had left no such mark on his sword.

The only idea that came to mind was to craft a similar sword and show it, but that would contradict his story. Who in the world would make a sword that was supposedly passed down through generations?

‘But if that’s what it takes to avoid trouble—’

Just then, a thought struck Dang Moo-jin.

He wasn’t sure if it would work, but it was worth a try.

Lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, ”…That sword, the Danhon Sword, has a secret.”

All eyes turned to Dang Moo-jin. Namgung Jin-cheon asked with interest, “A secret?”

“Don’t be surprised. The Danhon Sword can reproduce.”

The crowd burst into laughter.

“A sword that reproduces? What nonsense!”

“Is he a con artist or just a fool? Maybe both!”

The people mocked Dang Moo-jin.

The eccentric Gwi Yi, who had brought Dang Moo-jin here, seemed a bit surprised but then grinned at him.

‘You must have a plan if you’re spouting such nonsense. Handle it yourself,’ his expression seemed to say.

Namgung Jin-cheon looked at Dang Moo-jin with an unreadable gaze.

Dang Moo-jin’s heart raced wildly, but his expression remained steady. He continued with as much composure and audacity as he could muster.

“I’m not joking. With the right family technique, in a secluded place with a hot fire, the Danhon Sword can reproduce. It’s almost time, so in five days, it will give birth.”

Perhaps it was Dang Moo-jin’s sheer audacity, but the crowd, though still laughing, seemed uncertain.

Especially since the eccentric Gwi Yi, known for his oddities, had vouched for him.

Namgung Jin-cheon turned to Gwi Yi. “Is what he says true?”

“Of course.”

“Are you sure?”

“I, Yi Chung, may play pranks, but I don’t lie.”

Gwi Yi grinned even more brazenly than Dang Moo-jin, his face a mix of mischief and a hint of mockery.

His expression seemed to say, ‘You kids haven’t seen a sword give birth, have you? I have.’

With the story out and Gwi Yi’s endorsement, Namgung Jin-cheon couldn’t dismiss Dang Moo-jin’s tale in front of everyone.

Nodding, Namgung Jin-cheon tossed the Danhon Sword back to Dang Moo-jin.

“Head south from here, and you’ll find a hill with an abandoned forge at its base. That should suffice for a place with a hot fire.”

“Of course.”

“If you don’t bring back the sword’s offspring in five days, both you and Dang Moo-jin will pay with your lives.”

“Is there any doubt? Just make sure no one comes snooping around.”

Gwi Yi led the way with a swagger, and Dang Moo-jin followed.

Dang Moo-jin glanced back. Countless eyes were fixed on him.

Eyes filled with mockery, anticipation, and great curiosity from the martial artists.

The worried gaze of Namgung Jin-ya, watching Gwi Yi and Dang Moo-jin.

And Namgung Myung, looking bewildered, as if he couldn’t comprehend the situation.

Dang Moo-jin found his confused expression amusing and smirked.

Namgung Myung, you owe me big time.